


As Long As The Light Lasts

by Foxberry



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pining, Post Titan War, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, Wistful, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5527514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxberry/pseuds/Foxberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean stares out into the ocean and thinks of how things were and how they might have been if Marco were still there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As The Light Lasts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jellyfishfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishfrost/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Bell! I'm your secret santa! You asked for some canonverse aftermath with Jean staring out at the ocean and wondering what it'll be like if Marco were there. I hope you like where I went with it!

The sky looked so much brighter than Jean expected. He had seen it like this on other occasions but this one stood out in his mind. The clouds above in the brilliant blue seemed to glow with all of the sunlight of the day. They were fluffy and white like the world was made of soft things and happy outcomes. Floating on by in the gentle breeze, they reminded him of the days where he used to stare up at them with hope, and with Marco by his side.

Beneath it, the ocean washed upon the cliffs, wearing away the dirt of ages and grasping up with every splash of white foam as if it wished to pull him down into the blue. Its expanse was wider than he could have ever have imagined. Its colour was so crisp and clear and unspoiled by the dirt of the world behind him. It smelled fresh and clean, like all of his worries would be swallowed up and forgotten if he dived on in. If only Marco could have been here to see this.

It all seemed so wrong with the grey rubble and dust he clutched in his hands. Broken pieces of the wall felt that much heavier now that he sat here at the edge of the world, staring up at the sky and down at the waves. He had carried those pieces so far, tired and broken from the days it took to get here, but as he stared he realised that everything he had done had been worth it.

As tall as he had grown during these years that had passed, he found himself diminished and humbled by the great drop that lingered beneath his feet. He couldn’t remember how tall those walls had been anymore. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to, not when there were other moments he could remember, and so many more to imagine.

He had once been so self assured and confident of where his path would take him, that he could and would accomplish every dream that he had. Until Marco. He had a way of speaking exactly what needed to be said and breaking away the weak visage Jean had built up for himself. Jean had grown so much since then. He was kinder, more assured, more aware of his own faults, and all the better person for all the time Marco had been with him, regardless of Jean did, regardless of what he had said. He had never thought he would see the ocean or the walls fall, but he had never foreseen what happened to Marco either.

Marco would have loved it here. His hair would shine in the sunlight and move with all the grace of grass in a summer breeze. His eyes would have smiled as much as his lips, perhaps even more so. Maybe if Jean were lucky, Marco would have smiled all the more when he looked at him. The thought made Jean smile.

The thought of Marco scolding him for sitting on the edge, above the sharp rocks that waited below, made Jean chuckle to his chest. Marco would have told him all of the ways it was dangerous, counting each of them on his fingers with detailed descriptions of how exactly they were all bad ideas. He would have sat stubbornly further away with his legs crossed and lips pouted in worry. He would have told Jean of the ways he could end up down in the ocean and what would happen to him, but assure him with each one that he would never let that happen so long as he was there.

But he wasn’t here now. It was only Jean. Alone with the ocean and the cliff and the clouds. Some of the birds hovered close enough to keep him company, but they never stay for very long. None of this was how he would have imagined the first time that he saw the ocean, nor would he have wanted it this way, but here he was in the end, making good on a promise he made long ago. So much had changed since the first day that he had thumped his fist to his chest and saluted.

All Jean could hear for miles were the crashing of the waves and the occasionally whisper of the wind in his ear as it caressed its bitter cold touch across his face. The birds that flew around him, soaring in the sky and perching on the cliff between moment of flight, were just as silent as he was. Somewhere down in the churning of the water, Jean suspected he had lost his voice. Or perhaps he had left it back where he had collected the rubble in his grasp.

He let the pieces of it fall from his lap. One by one they tumbled down his thighs, skirted across his knees, and took the great plunge down into the great blue abyss. As beautiful as the ocean was, there was no hesitation in the way it swallowed each of the pieces up. If Marco were here, he would have thrown them, yelled into the sky with triumph and defiance at the world they had grown up in. Marco would have laughed and pulled Jean away from the edge before taking a moment to throw one as far as he was able. His laugh would have roared louder than any of the waves that broke against the cliff.

Jean had never realised until now that he had never been afraid of heights, nor had he ever been afraid to fall. It was nothing now when compared to the horrors he had seen. Even the nightmares that shook him through the night like shadowy figures grabbing at his legs paled in comparison. Perhaps that would have been something that scared Marco, or maybe he would have been just as foolish, sitting on the edge with him, feet dangling over like their 3DMG was still strapped to their hips. They would have been just as foolish and daring as each other, hand in hand as the day passed around them.

Marco would have told tales of his family to pass the time as they waited for the sun to set. He would have wrinkled his nose and smiled his crooked smile, tugging up one side of his lips more than the other. Jean would have laughed at the same series of stories that Marco always told when they were stationed together, the same ones he told every time, the same ones he only told to Jean.

Each story was special somehow. Each had their own patterns, their own cues, and a series of noises and sounds to accompany with Marco’s variety of gestures. It had always amazed Jean how much that boy could tell stories with his face alone. Even as Jean had grown older, he had never become that much better at telling stories. There weren’t that many he had to tell, and not many that he knew well. Yet somehow, over the years, the story of Marco became stronger, better, as good as he had been, but never as good a tale as his.

The tales Jean told himself were the best that he had. He told himself stories of how Marco loved the stories of the sea, of how Marco had laid on the grass for hours after training, and how he had looked up at the sky like it would lead his way forever. As the years went on, the stories grew greater, with every memory building a new one. Jean remembered the way that Marco laughed, the way he cried, and the way his smile changed for every occasion, making his face as readable as any book Jean had read.

His favourite of all of them he told to himself as the last of the wall’s rubble tumbled off into the ocean. Marco would have leaned against him, sitting here with their bare feet dangling defiantly above the blue. Jean’s arm would have circled around Marco’s shoulder to pull him close and lean closer to smell the scent of home. They would have pointed to the clouds and laughed at the images they found within the bright fluffy forms.

All of it would have been quiet and blissful. The flowers would have bloomed just to see Marco’s smile, and Jean would have melted. Their hands would have clasped together tightly, fingers worming together to be closer than they possibly could be, and squeezed like they never wanted to let go. Their laughter would have called the birds, and the birds would have returned their joy in song. The moments would have passed so slowly that they would have thought the world had stopped just for them. And maybe, just maybe, they might have kissed as the sun set and said its goodbye.

Jean ends the tale every time where they would have held each other in their arms, but the image still remains in Jean and will for as long as the light within him lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and want to share it on Tumblr, you can find the Tumblr post [here](http://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/post/135953439702/merry-christmas-littlestpersimmon-this-is-my).
> 
> I would love to hear your feedback here or you can also find me on [Tumblr](https://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue) or on my writing only blog [Foxberry Writes](http://foxberrywrites.tumblr.com/).


End file.
